


A New Hunt Begins

by MoonlitLotus22



Series: A Sky of Falling Stars [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: A Dude Walks Around And It's Metal As All Hell, Alternate Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:41:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27755530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonlitLotus22/pseuds/MoonlitLotus22
Summary: A Hunter is born from the depths of Shambhala. Traveling around the tundras of Faerghus, he searches for the greatest beast to slay.
Series: A Sky of Falling Stars [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2030299





	A New Hunt Begins

**Author's Note:**

> This was requested by a friend in a Fire Emblem Three Houses Roleplay. If there are any comments or concerns, let me know in the comments below! 
> 
> This is my first story written officially, in a sense. So, please be patient if some errors (in-story or in-formatting, I'm still new to this site!) or storytelling issues are evident.
> 
> -MoonlitLotus22

Wind blows, rain falls, and the strong prey upon the weak. A mantra of sorts rings in the mind of hunters and hunted alike. It was a familiar way to keep the cruel reality of being devoured or devouring from their minds. The way to escape, so to speak, from the trials and tribulations that arise from acknowledging one slaughters, one brings life to oblivion, and one devours another animal, born from blood and bone, that deserved likely not to die. 

To all but an elite few, this mantra was nothing more than a joke. Something that provided them humor in their daily lives, who understood the grimness yet loveliness of a life where these “grand moral truths” mattered as much as what ground they stepped on to walk toward another beast. 

To the Hunter, a man covered head-to-toe in Victorian-styled, yet tattered, ripped clothing, that saying was an easy way of saying “it’s nature”. For the strong to devour the weak, and for the weak to grow strong, thus continuing the cycle. However, the Hunter would also realize that there were two truths to this statement: there was an absolute weakness, and an absolute powerful.

The Hunter believed that he was the absolute weakness – the one who needed to fight to live, to devour, and needed to rip life from life to live. Other ideas and sayings with negative, or even degrading connotations, were ignored. This Hunter was looking for the absolute powerful; the greatest beast that lived and ever would live, for him to then devour its strength and spit out the carcass of a then-weaker animal.

He walked in Faerghus, taking the snowstorm with ease. On his back was some last-minute preparations – a container for water, some whetstones for his gear, cooked and raw meat meant for a quick meal, extra materials, and funds – and his one weapon: a great-sword. It may be said that great-swords are not the greatest of weaponry, that they require too much power, or that they require too much emphasis on skill and mobility to be useful.

...Well, there is always a reason for this ma’s rhymes. He continued to wander the plains of Faerghus, only a faint road and snow there to guide his steps. Without word nor complaint, the Hunter made his way to his next destination: Mateus. Signs of a massive demonic beast were present there, and his blood boiled just for a chance to fight such a magnificent creature.

The snow continued to fall, and, as his footsteps became methodical and silent, he noticed for the first time in a while that his heart, too, was silent. It was not something new to him, rather it was merely the realization that his heart was silent that he noticed. It was odd, surely. To have a heart that would not beat, yet a pulse; to have skin tougher than most, yet easily flexible and perhaps even longer-lasting than normal flesh; to have a body that screamed to be human, yet had the operations and devices of mythology, flowing through his veins, forging his bones and blood.

The Hunter did not feel the coldness of the snow. The Hunter did not feel the heat of the sun. He merely walked forward, onto the next destination. Then – he noticed something was off. At this point, anything moving – literally anything that showed a sign of life, even – would be strange for this monotonous landscape. But he noticed shuffling in the distant forests. The trees rumbled, and they did not bode well to be villagers. Rather, his blood became excited, and a smile grew under his mask. 

Demonic Beasts were here. The creatures of the night and wilderness that birthed man’s mythologies were present before him, and the Hunter, instead of fearing them, grew to appreciate and adore them. Not at all because of his love for the mythology nor their fanciful qualities.

Because they were there to fight him, and he was there to slaughter them. These Demonic Beasts were merely Faerghus Red Wolves – giant breeds easily scaling to about 20 feet tall with hair and skin thicker than sheep wool. They numbered in four, and there was only one Hunter. The redness of their pelts showed that they would be extra valuable on the market, but more importantly they were the more powerful variations of the Demonic Wolves in Faerghus.

So, when they walked towards him – as if they were attracted to the scent of this man and his flesh – the Hunter gladly walked forward, his right hand itching to grasp at his blade. The wolves stopped before him, and he stopped before them. Whoever made the first move, they seemingly said, would perish.  


Unfortunately, the Red Wolves would find that those were not good words to live by. The Hunter took off his pack and raced towards them with abandon, wielding his great-sword now in two hands. The first wolf attacked as well, aiming to strike down the Hunter instantly. However, the Hunter would counter that blow by simply slashing with his blade, destroying the Red Wolf’s left arm and then cutting off its head with a second swing.

It looked almost like a botched surgery. The head was barely hanging on by muscle and veins, and the arm was effectively bludgeoned off via the blade. Yet, the beast laid limp in the ground, his blood pouring to the white snow and staining it a wonderful red. The other wolves attacked at once, aiming to tear this man down.

The Hunter dispatched them effortlessly. One wolf attacked from his behind, one to his side, and one to his other side – a swipe of the blade was enough to rip the claws and hands from their arms, and a second was fit for breaking their striking arms clear-off. The Hunter made a mental challenge with them – how long would it take for him to kill them?

The first wolf went down in hardly four seconds. The second would die within barely two, the Hunter thrusting his great-sword into its skull. The third died in five seconds, with the Hunter ripping his blade from the second’s head and snapping the third wolf’s head in twain. Finally, the fourth wolf aimed to bite him, to devour him whole. Leaping from the body of the third wolf and abandoning his blade to the ground, the Hunter would land between the jaws of the fourth wolf and – within about ten seconds – rip the top half of the wolf’s mouth off by pushing it up, his legs crushed its tongue, and the Hunter moved from the mouth to its nose’s bridge, only to then punch the beast’s skull so roughly that its brain frontal lobe was annihilated.

The beasts, within about 30 seconds, were all slaughtered. Not a new record, but a good one, nonetheless. The Hunter looked around him, the stench of death beginning to reach his nose. Any man would cheer for the deaths of the wolves, but any potential cheer was robbed by how the Hunter killed them. 

That is, if anyone were there to begin with. To capitalize on the recent destruction of four Red Wolves, the Hunter took out his carving knife from his pack, and an extra bag for the meat. He then skinned one wolf at around his stomach and tore off muscle and meat for a later-day meal. He had to work quickly, as night would fall soon. Other beasts might show up to eat these ones as well, and he wanted to save as much strength as possible for fighting the rumored Beast of Mateus. Fighting the others would be nice, but he has all the material he needs.

So, the Hunter would rise after tearing what he needed away from the beasts and go back onto the path of Mateus. The snow began to overtake his vision, and sooner or later, his walking slowed. As he continued on the direct path to Mateus, he would find that the snow began to make him actually feel cold. How… unusual.  
He continued to walk, only to feel the snow begin to overpower his senses. His limbs slowed to a dangerous degree – threatening to freeze him alive. His body began to lock down, and he felt ever so tired. Knowing not what fate it brought, the Hunter would simply stand still in the middle of the snowstorm, closing his eyes.

…

The world was beyond his grasp. All he could do was look to the ceiling that covered the sky. The ceiling… That rocky, technological land of Shambhala… Had he returned there unknowingly? No… It was all too hazy for him. His sight only allowed for blurriness, in which he would be staring straight without any hope of a functioning body. As soon as he regained control of his body, he looked down to his flesh and saw that his chest was caved open.  


Surgically, they had ripped their way into the bone, moved the lung, and had effectively torn his heart open. How was the Hunter awake when he had no heart? He was confused, staring at that wound for what seemed to be hours. Only for, eventually, the atmosphere to hit him. He was in a surgical room – the technological yet basic atmosphere of a doctor’s lair to tear into the human body. Around the walls, painted in white, were seemingly images of green-haired people being slaughtered, with a king of sorts reigning over the bodies as he called for more of their destruction. Beasts. All around the man, stood beasts.  


He saw a doctor with long, white hair. On his body was the emblem of Adrestia, although he would quickly see that it was removed for something akin to the Emblem of Shambhala. This doctor spoke in an Adrestian accent – Aegir’s, to be specific. His height was terrible – he was almost inhumanly tall. Yet, when he turned around to face the boy, he was rather young.

In his hands was a stone. A circular stone, with just a Crest. It was sublime to see – power, raw power, emitted from it, and almost called to the Hunter. It beckoned to him and requested his body, so that it may give him life.  
The moment that the doctor put the Stone into the Hunter’s heart it began to whir. It began to function as if it were his heart, and mended his flesh to wrap around it. Each pulse, though… It felt like hell. His veins were screaming, his bones were in utter agony, and his body began to pulse. 

His entire body slowly, surely, contorted to another being altogether, giving away to the power that the stone gave, yet keeping its human shell. Each heartbeat as so, utterly loud. His heart was not in union with his body. It screamed, shining a Crest, and demanding that he obey it. The beast within the stone would be understood and obeyed – the Hunter’s body was no longer his own.

Thus, he would awaken after the snowstorm had passed. His body should’ve been annihilated in the snow, where he would suffer frostbite and perish, yet his flesh prevailed, and his heart continued to beat. The Hunter only felt slight hunger as he awoke, his body fighting off all instances of disease wonderfully.  
He peered to his heart, finding solace that it awakened him. He thanked the man who gave him that stone-heart, at the same time cursing the man for allowing this suffering to plague him. Alas, the Hunter continued walking towards Mateus, his limbs cracking and popping, as if they were frozen for hours at a time.

…

…

Eventually, he made it to Mateus. The monotonous scenery of an Iceland that had no people was shattered by the inhabitants that lived there. A village – or what could be called the remains of one – were in sight. Unfortunately, the remains bode horribly for life. It was burned to the ground by the beast, he assumed. The bodies in the area painted the snow slightly red, as if they were there for days, and the bodies were mangled, bitten, and devoured half-way before the beast seemingly wandered off.

He made it to the village and could see nothing proving survival. Men, women, and children were slaughtered by the beast that simply hunted for food. How strange. Even beasts would finish the meal, one would assume. Either that, or they were too large and just liked having more bodies.

Alas, the Hunter had little time to think. A Red Wolf would rush towards him from behind and attempt to strike him down, likely for revenge. Unable to block such a sudden attack, the Hunter was stuck from behind and tossed several feet away, his pack and weapon tossed aside alongside him. The wolf willed his demise, so it continued the offensive. It unleashed a bite towards the Hunter, in which the Hunter merely grabbed the jaw of the beast and stared it in the eye.

A lone sigh escaped his lips as he pushed the beast away from him, only to then slam its maw shut. His strength was so great that his arms penetrated its bone, allowing for him to link hands on the inside of the beast’s mouth. When he did, the Hunter would throw the beast some feet past him. Picking up his great-sword, the Hunter’s eye glowed in a lust for battle.

This was no “Greatest Beast”, but it was something to provide him entertainment. Just as he was willing to continue the battle, the Beast of Mateus made itself known. Descending from the sky, the beast’s shadow covered the entire village, the beast dive-bombed the poor wolf and smashed it into the ground.

The Beast of Mateus looked almost too unnatural to be a Demonic Beast. It was a massive, red, wyvern-like beast. Two legs, a long tail covered in spikes, a great orange breast, and wings that were at least the size of a house. The head looked to be a mixture of a bird’s beak and a dragon’s maw, in which the Beast of Mateus used its beak and talons to rip into the wolf, devouring all of the parts it could.

Come a few seconds later, the Beast leered towards the Hunter, its eyes craving the flesh and bone on him. It was surprising to see such a foe in Faerghus – as far as the Hunter knew, these beasts were unable to bear the cold. Yet, on its forehead, something shone.

“You carry their stink.” The Beast said, a low hum escaping its maw in both surprise and anger. The Hunter slowly began to realize it as well. There was a sort of link between the two, a way that they could feel like brethren. However, both the Beast and Hunter tossed that feeling aside.

The Hunter’s blade didn’t falter before this Red Dragon. Instead, he uttered his only words needed.

“A new hunt begins.”

Battle commenced between the two then and there. The Beast of Mateus would summon from its mouth a great fireball and shot it at the Hunter. The Hunter followed his instincts and would strike the fireball with his blade. The said fireball exploded into a brilliant flame surrounding his body, even coating him in the flame, yet he found that it made him feel alive.

The Hunter retaliated with his blade by rushing down the Beast of Mateus, smacking it in the face with his blade. The Beast would realize his immense strength by feeling parts of his beak simply come off as the blade grazed his mouth. The bone of a dragon was practically undone by a blade made from man? Impossible.  


The Beast of Mateus struck once again, this time trying to use its beak against the man, trying to end it quickly. However, the Hunter dodged by sidestepping the attempted peck, smacking the Beast of Mateus’s left jaw – breaking it. 

Close-combat wasn’t going to do it, so the Beast of Mateus attempted something different; it would strike with its tail, catching the Hunter periodically off-guard and tossing him across the field. Blocking it with his blade, the Hunter rolled on the ground as the Beast then smashed him into the ground with its foot.

Yet, the Hunter did not die. His body remained vigilant, and he stared straight up to the Beast of Mateus’s underbelly. The Red Dragon would attempt lifting its leg, only for the Hunter to dig his hands into the flesh of its ankle. The Beast shrieked in pain, feeling its Achilles tendon being ripped from its foot. 

The left foot was practically unusable now, and the Hunter was more than willing to continue his assault. He forced the foot off him when the beast screamed and would grab his blade to smash it right back into the Beast’s left leg. The gash created by the wound completely disabled it from use and was only made worse when the Hunter practically ripped open its chest with his blade. 

Leaping back, the Beast fired a pure beam of fire towards the Hunter, now beginning to fear the situation. The  
Hunter ran towards the beam, only to then roll on the ground underneath it. The rest of the village, however, was annihilated by the blast. Ever ready for combat, the Hunter ran towards the Beast of Mateus and would try something new. He wanted to see what it was that shone on the Beast’s forehead. So, when the Beast attempted to fly back, the Hunter would toss his blade straight into the Best’s left foot, forcing it to double-over and give him enough time to leap onto its head.

He saw a stone much like his own. It shone brilliantly, reminding him of the immense power that his own showed. When he was about to touch it, the Beast tossed him from its head and managed to bite the Hunter’s midsection, then throw him to the ground.

“You are not human!” It cried out in pain. Its best bet now was to flee when it could. Yet, the Hunter had planned for that as well. When it attempted to take flight, the Hunter grabbed onto his blade on its left foot, wrapped himself around the leg with his own legs, tore the blade out, and then stabbed the beast in the midsection.

The Beast of Mateus was unable to continue fighting for much longer, and these wounds only proved it. However, it wouldn’t go down without a fight. It would try to kill the Hunter by flying into the sky and then dive-bombing into the ground, only for the Hunter to think around that as well.

He leapt from the useless limb and would unleash another cut to the dragon’s left wing, causing it to lose control of its own flight and neutering its ability to fight back properly. As the Beast of Mateus eventually collapsed into the ground, the Hunter would toss his sword down once again, stabbing it straight through the back and forcing the beast into the ground.

For his finale, there was nothing but his greatest, actual idea. He reared back his fist as he fell through the sky, and a Crest shone behind him. The Crest of Blaiddyd illuminated above the beast as the Hunter came down and delivered a killing blow with a falling elbow.

The Beast of Mateus’s Crest Stone was shattered by the blow, and the Beast’s brains were effectively splattered all over the area, coating the Hunter as well. Crushed below his elbow was a Crest Stone, and the remains of the Beast of Mateus.

Rising from the body, the Hunter’s smile grew from one of glee to one of a monster’s glee, in destruction, and in taking the life of a grand beast. He took out his carving knife and began ripping apart whatever scales and meat he could – all parts of the beast were going to be used. 

…

…

Come weeks later, the Hunter would look to the sky in its boundless freedom. His weaponry was re-created, and he had bags of meat, originating from the Beast of Mateus. After working a deal with some local merchants, he managed to have a storage place for his weaponry – all of which were crafted by the scales and bones from the Beast of Mateus.

He also gained an additional weapon to use, too. This weapon was half lance, and its attachment folded into itself, creating a double-edged, fanged part of his weapon that could be used both for ripping and for gouging.  


With this all said and done, the Hunter began his walk through the monotonous lands of Faerghus. He was once again on the hunt.


End file.
